


Carry On

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [47]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Established Relationship, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: END OF SHADOWBRINGERS SPOILERSStand tall, my friend. May all of the dark lost inside you find light again.





	1. For whom weeps the storm,

**Author's Note:**

> ******SHADOWBRINGERS SPOILERS THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!!!! END OF MSQ SPOILERS!!!! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS!!!!**

“ _Damn-_!”

G’raha reeled back when the Calling abruptly snapped off, embarrassingly dumping Aza somewhere in the nearby wilderness. He shook his hand to ease the stinging tingle prickling over his fingers and frowned at his portal like it had personally betrayed him. All the others had been summoned to the Ocular without issue, yet the Warrior of Light…

Well, should he have expected anything different? These past few years trying to summon Aza had been like wrestling with an ornery _behemoth_. Every attempt resulted in the Warrior of Light bucking off the Calling onto an easier target - subconsciously - and leaving G’raha with an irate (and naked) Scion to contend with in his private quarters. He still shuddered at the memory of Alisaie’s unintended summoning. She had howled at him with such rage that Lyna had somehow heard her from the Dossar Gate and had burst in, thinking he was being attacked by a Sin Eater! Urgh, now that had been an awkward situation to explain. 

He tapped the tip of his staff against the floor, considering. Aza had dropped relatively close to the Crystarium - practically on its doorstep - so he _could_ simply wait for him to wander in here. Aza was insatiably curious, he would gravitate naturally towards the Crystal Tower once he spotted it - it was familiar, yet an oddity, so it made sense. However, G’raha would have to go to the gate, to tell Lyna that he was expecting a guest so he wasn’t turned away for whatever reason and…

Or, perhaps he should search for him? Aza couldn’t take four steps without tripping into a crisis or two, and there were plenty of those hidden in Lakeland’s woods. The thought of him ambling off, potentially getting hurt by a horde of Sin Eaters, or getting lost, or, heavens forbid, wandering into _Il Mheg..._! No, no, no, G’raha couldn’t risk waiting. He should ask Lyna if she could spare the men for a quick patrol under the guise of his guest being late. 

He hurried out of the Ocular and into the Crystarium, briskly striding for the city gates despite wanting to break out into a run. The citizens didn’t need to worry because he started sprinting here and there like a madman, so he kept himself calm even if his heart was fluttering near frantically in his chest. 

It was almost done, this. Once he had Aza, once the Scions were assembled, they could _finally_ start yanking this world from the brink, _save it_ , and in turn… Aza will also… 

G’raha didn’t finish the thought, his heart squeezing with a pain that was bittersweet. He will put Aza through _so much agony_ , betray his trust, for his own good, and will escape the consequences of it by plunging into the rift like an ill-fated shooting star. It was necessary, and Aza would probably hate him for it, but perhaps G’raha could make something up about- about using the Light to travel to other worlds, far away, so he would believe him to still be alive, but just an arse? He knew how Aza thought - he’d think it was his own failing, even if it was all part of a plan he was ignorant of. G’raha… couldn’t stand that. Aza, blaming himself. 

No, better to be thought of as a villain, than for Aza to realise G’raha was dying _for him_. 

(always, _always_ , for him, his eternal inspiration, that bright spark of hope that kept even the darkest and coldest nights at bay. to die for him, to be a stepping stone in the path the warrior of light had to walk… that was enough for him) 

He roused from his thoughts when a not-so-distant screech of a dying Sin Eater reached him. He had already cleared the city’s main gates, so he broke out into a run to the external gates, just in time to see Lyna hooking her chakrams back to her belt, the glitter of a dying Sin Eater rising to the sky, and before her… 

Aza, looking exactly as G’raha remembered him a lifetime ago. 

_Oh, my old friend,_ he thought wistfully, a part of him aching to sweep back his cowl and see if recognition would touch those golden eyes of his - but no. No, G’raha had to keep everything secret - for the Warrior of Light’s sake, for the Source’s sake, for _this world’s_ sake, G’raha must keep such selfish, melancholic urges under tight lock and key. Besides, he had been such a minor footnote to Aza’s great deeds - would he even recall little G’raha Tia, locked away in slumber in the Crystal Tower? It must’ve been years for him, by now, there was no way he would’ve… given any thought for him. 

The Warrior of Light was looking right at him, his expression openly wary and reserved. G’raha smiled for him, to try and ease the anxiety he could see in his tense body. He wanted to make Aza’s transition into the Crystarium as painless and enjoyable as possible, so, time for some pep, time to dazzle him, and hope the wonder of the Crystarium would help him to forget his worries, if only for today. 

Time to befriend his old friend. 


	2. Her tears on our skin

When G’raha had been in Ishgard, so many decades ago as the Source buckled beneath the Eighth Umbral Calamity, he had found some pictures of the Warrior of Light. Beautifully hand drawn sketches, pages yellowed with age, the charcoal smudged but still recognisable as _Aza_. One of G’raha’s comrades had found them, actually, stashed in a small lockbox in what had once been the Fortemps Manor, alongside the noble’s memoirs he had poured over to pinpoint _when_ the Warrior of Light would be at his peak. 

His comrade hadn’t known who the person was in the sketches, had shown them to him as a thing of curiosity ( _“Look at this handsome devil, some noble’s side dish, do you think?”_ ) and his heart had _seized_. Those smudged, old, partially damaged sketches, had brought clarity to a face G’raha remembered but didn’t _fully_ recall. When he had them in his hands, he had _wept_ , though he couldn’t explain why to his alarmed comrade when asked. 

The sketches were passed around after that. The Warrior of Light, his comrades would whisper amongst themselves, and the unbroken thread of Aza’s exploits gained _more_ substance, able to show the sketches and say _look, look at him, he really existed, look_ … 

Whoever had done those sketches, had done them with utter love, G’raha could tell. Every detail, every candid pose - Aza looking to the distance, Aza stretching whilst shirtless, Aza petting a Chocobo, Aza smiling with fond affection towards the sketcher… sides of him that G’raha never saw during their adventures through the Crystal Tower. Back then, Aza had been very reserved - not quite shy, but close to it - still uncomfortable with the mantle of ‘Warrior of Light’, and who simply wanted to know what was at the top of the tower. Such innocent times then, looking back.

G’raha actually kept one sketch for himself, one that he successfully brought with him to the First, through time. He kept it in his personal quarters, preserved and as pristine as it could get - ignoring the stains and creases from being folded into his pocket too many times. G’raha told himself that it was to ensure he never forgot the Warrior of Light’s face, a physical reminder of his eternal inspiration, to help him keep going, to promise that after all this…

However, with Aza here, now, physically, _in the flesh_ , G’raha realised that reality blew that old, creased sketch well out of the water. 

It made him relieved that he decided to conceal his identity with this heavy cowl, to obscure his eyes from view - he couldn’t help but steal glances every few seconds, hungrily drinking in every _real_ detail before him. Aza was older than he remembered - more grey in his hair, beginnings of crow’s feet, more tired looking - but he was _real_ . He had _colour_ , where the sketches were only in black and white - dark blond, grey-streaked hair, dark brown skin, the mesmerising, golden eyes - the sketches didn’t catch those details and… 

Gods, G’raha still couldn’t believe it. Finally. _Finally_. The Warrior of Light was here, _Aza_ was here, a living, breathing legend, within arm’s reach. He was practically giddy with delight - it helped him to ignore the thump of bittersweet sadness lingering somewhere behind his heart. 

And so far, things had gone swimmingly. G’raha had explained the situation regarding the First, the Scions and the Source’s impending doom, and while Aza had seemed to regard his tale with poor concealed suspicion, he had stated his intent to cooperate with him ‘for now’. More than what G’raha could ask for, who had been anticipating Aza kicking up a stink and running into the wilderness to hunt down his Scions before G’raha could get a word in edgewise. He did remember Aza being a bit of an impulsive, stubborn hothead back in the day. 

Though… maybe time and experience had mellowed him out? 

G’raha dismissed that oddly disquieting thought - it was, admittedly, jarring to see a change in someone who had been so _static_ in his memories and the tales - and returned to the current situation: namely, to hurry Aza to bed. His guest was looking rather frayed around the edges, clearly exhausted, and it wouldn’t do to send him off into Novrandt without at least giving him a day to decompress. 

“With that settled,” he continued, realising a minor pause had lapsed between Aza’s agreement to trust him and his open relief at that fact, “We shall have to see about getting you ready for the road.” 

Clearly the magic words. Aza openly _perked_ , his eyes lighting up at the thought of striking out into this unknown, strange world. Hah, at least _that_ hadn’t changed! 

“Though,” G’raha added, “Travelling across the rift has no doubt left you weary. I will arrange a room for you, where you might rest in comfort. While it’s being prepared, perhaps I can show you around?” 

That last little bit was indulged selfishness, G’raha knew. He could have easily asked a Crystarium guard to act as tour guide, but this… well, he could indulge in this, right? He didn’t want to leave Aza’s company just yet, not while he was still processing his actual existence right in front of him. 

“Won’t that be inconvenient to you?” Aza asked, looking neutral about the offer. His poker face was still, annoyingly, too perfect for G’raha to decipher, “You’re the, uh, leader of this place, right? Won’t showing me around cut into your other duties?” 

“Ah hah… no, not necessarily,” G’raha paused, wondering how to explain. Unless Sin Eaters were attacking, or someone found something within the Crystal Tower’s depths they wanted explained or reverse engineering, G’raha actually had copious amounts of free time on his hands. Normally this was spent eyeing the circling hordes of Sin Eaters and their Lightwarden masters, or sifting through the rifts to find the shortest and safest paths for the Warrior of Light’s Calling, but now… well, suddenly, G’raha found himself with little to do until Aza set upon his next adventure. 

“My role here is more of a _steward,_ than leader,” he said carefully, “So, do not concern yourself. You’re not pulling me away from any vital duties. For tonight, I am entirely at your pleasure.” 

Aza’s ear twitched, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards, and too late did G’raha realise the suggestiveness of his wording. He forced himself to keep a straight face, gripping his staff tight, and continued blithely, “So! Shall I show you to the markets?” 

“Sure,” Aza said, thankfully letting the moment slide, and his expression thawed from its previous blankness to something _approaching_ friendliness, “Lead the way, Rockman.” 

“Rock-” G’raha’s voice stuttered over a laugh, “Very well. Follow me.”

Aza easily fell into step with him, and G’raha felt his shoulders drop as something peaceful settle over him. He was already planning the trip in his head - the markets, maybe introduce Aza to Feo Ul - won’t that be an interesting meeting? - show him to where adventurers congregated, the inn - stress to the innkeeper that Aza was his _most important guest_ \- maybe a meal? Definitely arrange a meal, he remembered Aza being able to eat for three people in one sitting so he must be starving right now - and… 

Well, he’ll see how the trip fared to the market first. 

They stepped out of the Tower and into the glaring brightness of the First’s Light. G’raha dipped his head slightly to let the cowl block it out, but Aza still reeled lightly, muttering in discomfort. Ah, G’raha forgot: Aza was a Keeper-Seeker mix. He remembered his eyes were sensitive to bright lights much like a Keeper’s… 

He glanced over at him, to see Aza pouting slightly, looking adorably annoyed as he lifted his gloved hand to shade his eyes. His ears were set back moodily. 

Odd. The same pose as that sketch G’raha had squirrelled away. 

He drank it in, couldn’t help but smile fondly as he did so - until Aza glanced his way and he hurriedly turned forwards, before he could be questioned. Ah, this was difficult. But, nice, in a masochistic way. 

The arts did not come easily to G’raha - but he found his fingers itching for a pencil and paper regardless. Ridiculous. Where did this romantically sentimental mood come from? Perhaps it wasn’t only Aza who was tired from this Calling. 

Still, the thought lingered as he led his friend to the markets. Well, maybe a single private sketch won’t hurt. He could indulge in that little guilty pleasure, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cliff side scene will definitely be happening, and THERE WILL BE MORE HUGS THAN WHAT MSQ GAVE US bc fuck me g'raha needs all the hugs. also I may embellish some scenes so they're not complete copy pasta from cutscenes, so watch out for that. 
> 
> thank you for everyone who has commented so far, I'm so happy so many people like the idea of this fic :3 i hope i live up to expectations, and thanks for reading!


	3. The days of our years gone

When G’raha first sealed himself away in slumber in the Crystal Tower, it had been to the expectation of waking up to an exciting, brand new world. He’d always been an adventurous sort at heart, and the idea of leaping ‘forward in time’, so to speak, had gripped him. Yet, while the world had been, in a way, ‘new’, it had been more of a nightmare than an adventure. He had asked about NOAH - about the Scions, Rammbroes, Krile… Aza. The answer he got had… almost broken him. 

Almost. 

Dead. Long dead. The people that came to his tower were _descendants_ , inheritors of a broken world, scrambling in the dirt for any glimmer of hope, with the tales of the Warrior of Light the only thing keeping them going. G’raha had accepted than when he woke, the people he knew and love would long become dust, but he’d hoped it would’ve been peaceful, and of old age, not- not choking to death from an unstoppable weapon, all their efforts amounting to _nothing_ , meaningless, a footnote in history almost forgotten-

Almost. 

The unbroken thread: the Warrior of Light. That history remained. Oh, certainly, as folk tales, heavily embellished, transformed and evolved with each retelling - but it gave them strength. It gave them _inspiration_ to hear how one man single handedly destroyed the Ultima Weapon, how one man stopped a thousand year old war and ushered in peace, how one man had liberated two countries from an oppressive empire, how _one man_ with such strength also possessed a heart that brimmed with love and kindness and _decency_. 

The stories idolised him, really, built him onto a pedestal of near perfection. Even G’raha found himself falling for it sometimes. Moving onwards, though, he’ll need to purge himself of that belief. Aza _wasn’t_ perfect - he could fail like any other man, and he will have to make sure not to push him too hard before… well, before the end. 

He couldn’t help but let his thoughts turn brooding as he watched Aza from a distance. The visit to the markets was going well - after explaining the currency and introducing him to Feo, Aza had asked to have a quick look around before moving on to the inn, and G’raha had indulged him. It allowed him to observe him closely from a distance without being noticed, anyways. 

Aza had a limp now. It was subtle, but watching him stroll from stall to stall, G’raha noticed the unsteady, stiff gait, the way he held himself speaking of an old injury that pained him still. Aza had been a little… battered, back during their explorations of the Tower, but G’raha didn’t recall him being like _this_. Those heroics he regularly pulled had clearly done a number on his body, which meant he _definitely_ needed to be paced carefully. While quickly eliminating the Lightwardens would be preferable, perhaps he should enforce at least a few weeks rest in between their hunts…? Though, he could see Aza protesting that strenuously, so he may have to… conjure a few reasons for the delays. 

More lying. More obfuscation. 

“Exarch,” Bragi’s hoarse voice jolted him from his thoughts, “I see your guest is enjoying the markets.” 

“Master Bragi,” G’raha quickly turned to him, a little flustered at being caught off guard, “I didn’t hear your approach.” 

"Hrm,” Bragi’s lips pulled back into a Ronso-style grin, “Of course you didn’t. Too busy burning a hole in the back of your friend’s skull, you were.” 

G’raha sighed, not even bothering to deny it, “I was merely ensuring he wasn’t _too_ exhausted from the journey. Our homeland is quite far, after all…”

“He does look a bit rough around the edges,” Bragi agreed, scratching at the underside of his jaw as he eyed Aza too. At this point the Warrior of Light was at the tomestone stall, chatting with the clerk there. There was a lot of passionate hand gesturing going on. 

“But,” Bragi continued after a pause, “This is the one you have been waiting so long for, yes? Hmm, I can see why. He’s a good one.” 

“Hm?” G’raha frowned at the cryptic remark, but Bragi just gave him that knowing grin again before he ambled off, chuckling to himself. 

Strange. 

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it, for Aza was making his way back looking deeply discouraged by something. 

“I know she’s here somewhere,” he was muttering under his breath, “Where there’s tomestones, there’s Rowena.” 

“I'm sorry?" G'raha frowned, puzzled, "Is there an issue with one of the stalls?” 

Aza waved him off, “Oh, no, the markets are fine. I just thought…” he paused, scrunching his nose briefly, before he shook his head, “Nevermind. I’m just tired is all.” 

“Right,” G’raha let it drop. Aza did look exhausted - the dark circles under his eyes were looking worryingly stark, and his broad shoulders and back were slumping under the weight of his greatsword. G’raha felt a little guilty for making him walk about so much today, “We were going to organise a room for you, weren’t we? Come along.” 

The walk was quiet between them - not uncomfortably so, but it wasn’t companionable either. Aza was taking in their surroundings with a heavy-lidded gaze, and his pace was starting to lag enough that G’raha had to shorten his stride to make it a bit easier for him. That limp was worrying him a bit - was it an actual injury, or…? 

“Your leg,” he found himself saying, “Have you hurt it?” 

Aza tensed a fraction, his expression going coolly blank. G’raha almost cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. The little progress he made to make Aza warm up to him, gone in a split second because he couldn’t squelch his insatiable curiosity. 

“...no,” Aza replied, his tone guarded, “It’s fine.” 

“Ah, I see…” G’raha dithered a moment, unsure whether to apologise for his prying, or just let it drop, “If you’re certain.” 

“I am,” Aza said, then added in a gentler tone, “No need to worry. I’m just getting old.” 

G’raha huffed out a short laugh at that, “Well, you have my utmost sympathy, then. These bones of mine are getting rather old themselves.” 

Aza’s blank expression thawed, his shoulders relaxing from their protective hunch, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you’re… what? A million years old?” 

“A _million-_ ” G’raha couldn’t help but pout slightly, “Do I truly seem that decrepit?” 

“You’re literally fossilising before my eyes.”

Well… well, okay, that was _true_ , but, “It’s crystallisation, actually.”

Aza rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, so G’raha took it as a victory. 

They reached the Pendants not long after that, the air friendlier between them. It took little time for the manager of suites to arrange a room for Aza, as well as a hot, hearty meal, and G’raha found his steps to be lighter when he left half an hour later, content with the knowledge that for tonight, his friend was well looked after. 

It was looking promising. Despite his misstep there, G’raha liked to think he was building up a rapport with Aza. Perhaps when the other Scions return to the Crystarium, he might bend their ear regarding Aza’s health. To endure the Warden’s Light, Aza would have to be hale and hearty - in both spirit and body. If he was too weak… 

Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. G’raha had concocted this plan under the assumption that _of course_ Aza would be able to withstand all of the Warden’s Light long enough for him to extract, contain, and transport it to the rift. But if he couldn’t… 

Ah, he’d done it again. Buying into those stories, making assumptions on Aza’s strength and luck. He’ll simply have to… adjust, and hope. Hope like he’s always been hoping - desperately, fervently, as intense as the Tempered praying for their Primal. Hope, that in this at least, Aza was as perfect as his tales made him out to be.


	4. Our souls soaked in sin

G’raha struggled to stifle a yawn as his head nodded for the tenth time over his notes. 

It was late - enough so that Lyna would be burning disapproving holes into the side of his head come morning. She tended to check in on him before midnight, well used to his foibles by now, but tonight it seemed her duties kept her occupied elsewhere. No doubt she would ambush him at breakfast with that disgusting ‘revitalising’ syrup from Spagyrics to make up for it, an ordeal that he was not looking forward to in the slightest. 

“Perhaps I should make an attempt…” he muttered to himself, rubbing at his burning eyes. The words on the pages before him were blurring into an incomprehensible mess, though at this point G’raha could recite these notes from memory. 

Aza’s history. The First’s history. What led to the Eighth Umbral Calamity. The process behind it. Various plots and plans to divert this awful history’s course. He had read and reread these notes over and over for a _century_ , yet still… 

G’raha sighed, setting the notes aside and leaning back in his chair. In his private quarters, he could sprawl and flop to his heart’s content without a care for personal dignity, and he did so then, slouching in the squashy armchair until he was practically horizontal. It hurt his neck something fierce, but he felt no motivation to move. After his emotional high from successfully summoning Aza and managing to wrangle him into his plans, G’raha was finally hitting the low. 

Doubts were trying to clamber in - _what if, what if, what if, what if_ \- though he boxed them away with weary experience. It was miraculous that everything had lined up so perfectly to this point - Urianger had said so himself - and it left him on anxious tenterhooks, waiting for the cruel smack of reality to lash him across the haunches like a grain flail. Plenty could still go wrong, and if it did, there was no recovery from it. If this failed, that was it. The First would die, the Eighth Umbral Calamity would visit the Source, and Aza would be dead - or transformed into a Sin Eater if things went _horrifically_ wrong. 

Of course, G’raha didn’t get where he was by second-guessing himself. So, using the overwhelming power of pure denial, he decided to just not think about what would happen if things went wrong. 

He sat up again with a grunt, picking his notes and shuffling the papers together. His eye caught on the topic the page was on though - something he hadn’t really processed before - and paused. 

It was a report - old, written on Garlean paper with that distinct, stark font that indicated it had been done by using their typewriters, rather than by scribe. After Ala Mhigo’s liberation, the Empire had pinpointed Aza as a significant threat, and therefore took the proper measures - spies, information brokers and assassins were brought in from all over Imperial territories, given the singular mission of this: find out who Aza Lynel is, and find out how to neutralise him.

This was something the folk tales left out somewhat - or, rather, sugar-coated to make it more palatable to everyone. The tales went thus: the Warrior of Light came from humble beginnings, adopted by a Xaela tribe when he was found lost along the Ruby Sea’s coast as a child, and had struck out into the big bad world as an inexperienced mercenary, until one day he helped the Sultana of Ul’dah reclaim her stolen crown, allowing him the chance to travel to the other City States as her envoy and…

Well, it went on from there. People ate it up, the fact that the Warrior of Light had been a normal man, from humble beginnings. It let them think that they too, as normal people, had a chance - ignoring, of course, that Aza had many unique qualities that allowed him to be as magnificent as he was. The rags-to-riches style of Aza’s ascension to Warrior of Light served its purpose to inspire, and G’raha never felt the urge to elaborate on the ugly details of it

It wasn’t his place, anyways. When he had found these old reports from the hollowed out shell that was the Imperial Intelligence Bureau in Garlemald, G’raha had scarcely believed it himself. Had thought - hoped - that this was some propaganda that the Imperials had thought to release, to discredit Aza somewhat during the war, but… it all matched up, mostly. 

Aza Lynel had indeed come from humble beginnings: come from the hold of a slaver’s ship, stolen from some unknown land and sold into the services of a monstrously cruel person. The details in the report regarding that were horrific, and G’raha shuffled the page to the very bottom, feeling a sense of disquiet. It had been different knowing those details when Aza had been… well, _dead_ , and a concept - an ideal, an inspiration, a _goal_ \- but now Aza was a living, breathing person and… G’raha knew something intensely private and traumatising about him without his knowledge. 

You wouldn’t think it, though, looking at Aza. Despite enduring such _cruelties_ , seeing the worst in humanity and having all reason to become hateful and cold… he wasn’t. He was wary and cautious, aye, but he was compassionate, always ready to lend a helping hand and fight against any and all injustice. He was _good_. He was a good person, even if one had to expend some effort to coax him out of his shell to see it. 

Still, G’raha knew he couldn’t breathe a word of it - or _imply_ \- he knew to Aza. He wouldn’t dare hurt him like that, bringing such painful memories to the fore. He just wanted- it was simply, he wanted Aza to know…

Well, it didn’t matter. 

He pushed himself out of his armchair, letting the papers stay on his desk. He’d been awake too long, if his thoughts were circling themselves like this. He shuffled to his bed, grunting quietly as he stiffly lied down on it. He hadn’t been lying when he said he felt the weight of his years on his joints - especially where the crystal met flesh, a pulling, dull aching pain that set his teeth on edge. 

This body wasn’t meant to live this long. 

He stared up at his ceiling, casting a quick mental command for the tower to turn off his room’s lights. In a blink, he was plunged into darkness, and he listened to the hum of the tower around him, felt the aether flow through it, and through him, and forced himself to relax. If he let his consciousness dip enough, he could almost sense every single little life fluttering around the tower’s base, like fireflies, zipping to and fro, sheltered beneath the tower’s glow, nice and safe and his. 

It was a good feeling. The Crystal Tower liked the feeling too. It had been created to serve and empower its citizens, and those of the Crystarium very much belonged to it. G’raha felt some of his worries, his uncertainties, his fear, melt away as he focused on the sense of _belonging_ and _home_ instead.

The morning would bring them back to the fore, but for now, he would rest, and if he paid a little more attention to the Pendants than usual, well, the only other thing that knew was the Crystal Tower, and that was hardly going to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the syrup thing is from a quest in the crystarium :3 apparently g'raha absolutely despises the taste of it, but Lyna makes him drink it a lot since he's always so tired haha 
> 
> where we're at timeline wise: the night before WoL goes to either Eulmore or Amh Araeng to pick up Alphinaud/Alisaie. We'll most likely be jumping to forwards in the timeline after this


	5. These memories ache with the weight of tomorrow

Aza was not happy when he returned from Amh Araeng. 

It was clear the journey had taken some emotional toll on him, his dark clothes and armour paled from white dust with sand still glittering in his hair. His expression was too still, a tell G’raha faintly remembered during their NOAH days, when Aza was upset but didn’t want anyone to know about it. He had to bite back the urge to prod him about it. It wasn’t his place right now. Besides…

“Did Alisaie not return with you?” he asked once they got their initial greetings out of the way, “Or did you not find her…?”

“I found her,” Aza said, “But… well, stuff happened, so she’s taking a moment to herself for a bit.” 

Aza didn’t elaborate, and G’raha itched with curiosity. He had held off… _observing_ Aza through the use of his magic, knowing that he might’ve wanted privacy when reuniting with an old friend, but now he wondered if he should’ve stolen a few cheeky looks. Amh Araeng was a dangerous place, considering its proximity to the remnants of the Flood, and the people who lived there eked out a harsh existence. It was understandable that Aza might’ve become distressed at witnessing their plight firsthand. 

“I see,” he finally said when the silence stretched overly much, “Is she well?” 

“Physically,” Aza said vaguely, scratching behind his ear. An anxious tell, “Uhm, but don’t worry. She’ll be along soon. So, Alphie. Kolasia?”

“Kholusia,” G’raha automatically corrected, letting the Alisaie matter drop. No doubt she would be here soon to glower at him with the full brunt of her undying grudge sooner than he’d like, “I can arrange transport there. Though, you may want to wait until tomorrow…”

Aza frowned at that, “I can go now. I’m fine to travel.”

 _You need rest_ , G’raha thought exasperatedly. Aza looked tired - dark bags under his eyes, face pale and drawn in a way that spoke of poor sleep and a missed meal or two. While he was sure Aza could power onwards to Kholusia and meet up with Alphinaud, he didn’t want to chance it with Ran’jit in the area. If rumours he heard about Eulmore were true, then there was risk of a hostile encounter. 

“Ah, well…” G’raha smiled apologetically, “Unfortunately, it takes time to arrange an amaro to Kholusia, due to our… _difficulties_ with Eulmore. They would not take kindly to a Crystarium amaro appearing in their airspace without warning, you see.” 

“Oh,” Aza looked puzzled, “But, I thought you said Alphie’s there trying to build alliances…?”

G’raha hesitated. He had thought to let Aza get a grasp on the complexity of the ‘Eulmore Problem’ by witnessing it firsthand, as he remembered that Aza wasn’t one for long-winded explanations (something that used to aggravate him to no ends when Aza would zone out of his lectures on Allagan history during their forays into the Crystal Tower). But, well... perhaps he could give some simple context? 

“Eulmore has fought the Sin Eaters since the days of the Flood,” he began carefully, “However, when Lord Vauthry took control they withdrew from all military operations against them. All while demanding fealty from us, of course.”

Aza was quiet for a moment, mulling over this. Then; “So… they’ve given up?” 

Overly simplistic, but… “In a way. You will find out more when you arrive there, but Alphinaud is attempting to change their minds regarding their situation with… disappointing results.”

He was, of course, mincing his words some. The results weren’t just disappointing - they were _alarming_ . Eulmore boasted the strongest army in Norvrandt after the Flood, and while no one had been able to stand the snobbish elite demanding obedience from the rest of the shattered continent, their army had still been _reassuring_. As well as, of course, their generations of Minfillias. But since Vauthry… Eulmore had withdrawn and withered and gone cold, leaving the rest of Norvrandt shouldering the burden their army once had. The Crystarium endured, of course, but after so many years, they were beginning to show cracks...

Eventually, G’raha would need to figure out a way to deal with Eulmore. Vauthry was the source of the problem, but how to go about addressing it was always placed on the backburner for more pressing issues. Perhaps, by using that devil’s luck of his, Aza would stumble upon an answer whilst there? 

“But, those are concerns you can focus on tomorrow,” G’raha continued, not letting his worries show in his tone or face, “For now, you should take this time to rest.”

Aza made a face, like the word ‘rest’ was some terrible pox he should avoid at all cost, “But rest is so… _boring_.” 

G’raha couldn’t hold back a smile, already knowing the _exact words_ to have Aza heed his advice, “Even if that rest involved touring our chocobo stables?” 

Aza jerked upright from his sulky slouch, tail sweeping upwards and ears perking as he gasped: “Chocobo stables?”

“Well, the Temenos Rookery houses both amaro and chocobo,” G’raha admitted, “And as you will be here for a while, I thought it may be useful for you to be on good terms with Szem - ah, the stablemaster. He is _quite_ protective of his birds and is leery of loaning them out to complete strangers.” 

Aza leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, nodding slowly, “Oh, I guess that makes sense. I'll need a new mount, especially since I don’t have Rations with me anymore.” 

He seemed to wilt at that, the brief burst of happiness dimming at the thought of his loyal mount, trapped back on the Source. G’raha winced at his misstep. 

“...recent news from the Rookery is that they’ve just hatched a new clutch of amaro, if you’re curious to see them,” G’raha said, a clumsy attempt to divert the topic slightly, “You’re still unfamiliar with those birds, are you not?” 

“Mm, yeah,” Aza’s gloominess waned a fraction, “Huh, I bet they look really cute as babies.” 

“Absolutely adorable,” G’raha confirmed, relieved at deftly diverting his friend from a nasty bout of homesickness, “They’re more fluff and down, than amaro.” 

Aza smiled, “I’ll check it out then. Since I’m being forced to _rest_ and all.” 

Relieved that he managed to trick Aza into cooling his heels for the night, G’raha bade him farewell not long after that. Aza disappeared for the Rookery, G’raha promising to send Alisaie his way after she reported to him, and idly mulled over the logistics of successfully transporting a chocobo from the Source to the First. It should be easier than a sentient person - or not. Animal aether was different to Spokens’, after all, and G’raha shuddered to think of the consequences if it went wrong…

... 

Oh, what was he _doing_? Aza didn’t need Rations by his side! Granted, he faintly recalled him being heavily attached to the bird, almost emotionally dependant… 

G’raha sighed. Feo Ul might be the one to assist in this particular matter. 

But, that wasn’t a pressing problem, so he pushed it onto the backburner with everything else. His ‘to-do’ list was getting uncomfortably long, with so little time to accomplish everything he wanted to. The biggest one being: how to cause as little disruption as possible to the Crystarium when the Crystal Tower vanished upon his death. It would cause a fuss, undoubtedly, but he didn’t want this city - this fantastic, defiant show of resilience and hope, eked out in a world doomed to die - to crumble because he cruelly tore away its foundations. He needed to ensure the other pillars of stability were strong enough… 

He felt a twinge. An emotionally devastating twinge that knifed him precisely in the heart, as it always did whenever he seriously considered the _Afterwards_. G’raha could admit that he had fallen hopelessly in love with the Crystarium, had worked alongside these brilliant, fantastic people to build this sanctuary for all of them - which was why it hurt so much to think about leaving it behind, to never see how it would truly flourish _Afterwards_. It would be amazing, he knew. Simply _amazing_. 

But he’d never get to see it.

G’raha had made his peace with that. He will never see the Crystarium at its full potential. He will never see the First returned to its full glory. He will never get to _explore_ Norvrandt, to do so at Aza’s side, and it _hurt_ to know this, but he accepted it. He was content with that. The satisfaction that he served a part in the Warrior of Light’s story, even as a supporting character, was enough for him. 

“It’s enough…” he murmured to himself, just to reaffirm it.

Though, even to himself, his quiet voice sounded so terribly lonely, echoing back to him in the empty space of the Ocular.

**Author's Note:**

> essentially, this is gonna be Shadowbringers from G'raha's POV. Obvs there will be some shit i will be bullshitting bc there's times where he's doing his own thing while WoL's doing his thing, but ultimately this is just me wanting to explore the absolute devotion G'raha had towards WoL. It's gonna involve a lot of messy emotions, some pining, a lot of love, but it's all gonna end happily guys you'll see. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think, or if there's specific scenes from the game you really want me to do!


End file.
